Kissing Worms

Spring is in the air.
Warm breezes carry the smell of blossoming trees.










And then, too small to see, are the wretched canker worms. Later in the summer they have grown large from forging themselves on the the leaves from the trees. One can see them dangling from the branches by their silken cords, and dodge around them.

But not now. Tiny little horrors. I ride along and suddenly feel something against my lips. I sputter and ride down the street (phffttt, phfft) and no doubt people I pass wonder why I am riding a bike and making sounds like a motor.
I can only hope for a good frost.